


Hygge

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Modern AU, Rhys and Jack reunite after a long time apart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 19:06:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12416160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: Former lovers Jack and Rhys end up rekindling their romance when they meet unexpectedly in a foreign city.





	Hygge

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on Tumblr! This one got away from me a little bit but I really like the end product.

Sometimes, Jack likes being in a city where nobody speaks English.

There are the occasional businessmen heard chattering into their smartphones as they walked down the street, and a couple of the cafe workers occasionally attempt to speak to him in his native tongue once they notice his own clumsiness, but usually he limits himself to a handful of words he can speak with confidence. Just enough to ask for directions, or order a coffee.

Copenhagen is beautiful in the winter, snow fallen down the steep roofs and fattening in heavy, blue-white bangs over the eaves. The crisp air and stark banks of snow contrast sharply with the brightly painted buildings, their windows glowing with the comforting warmth of the hearth in the softening twilight of the evening.  

It’s far too late in the winter for snow to be falling back in New York, but here the city is draped in the stuff, left in a pristine state on the sides of the roads and the sidewalks. If not for the covering of trees and awnings, it might look like a large, black and white maze from the sky.

Ostensibly, Jack is here on business, but with only a handful of meetings scattering his schedule, he has plenty of time to explore the city, to take in the sights and get lost in the bustle of people that he doesn’t have to know, that could flash by anonymously speaking so quickly that Jack’s foreign born brain, gratefully, can not keep up.

He had taken a moment to stand by one of the many trees lining the park he usually cuts through to get back to his hotel, letting his vision blur with the fog of his breath, wondering if he should finally give in an order a shot of aquavit off the room service menu, when a high, clear,  _English_ -speaking voice cuts through the mist.

_“Jack_?”

And just like that the alpha is back in New York, sweltering in the last, vengeful vestiges of summer as the humid night closes around him and the ring weighted like an abandoned anchor in the sea of his palm, rooting him to the spot even as the love of his life steals away into the transient shadows of trees fluttering like mocking voices under the streetlamp.

Rhys looks pale, with the fuzzy backdrop of the snow and sky around him, his eyes wide and cheeks certainly flushed from the cold as he stares back at Jack. He breathes out—harsh, firm—but he can still see Rhys through the steam of his breath.

He still looks good.

He still looks like he needs someone.

Jack wants to say so many things to that face, to that need. To throw it back against Rhys, to beat his body with it in the same way Rhys had harmed him so many months ago. When Rhys had shrunk at the prospect of being tied to someone that, deep down, the omega feared as a  _threat_ , as somebody broken and indelibly scarred and  _incapable_.

It seems only right to shove Rhys away, to pierce his heart after he dared to shove a wedge between the rapidly closing ends of Jack’s isolated bubble with the insolence, the assumption of his intelligible  _words_.

But he doesn’t.

* * *

Aquavit, as it turns out, is frikkin’ terrible.

It burns with the heat of vodka and reminds Jack of the garbage little seeds he had to pick off his bagels back in New York when they were out of everything  _but_ everything _._ Except there’s no picking the terrible taste out of the alcohol, unless he had some fancy kind of science equipment to extract it.

Rhys could probably figure something like that out, and he probably should, considering how he turns green and nearly spits out the aquavit when a snickering Jack first prompts him to try it.

It’s nasty and it burns but man does it get Rhys giggly fast. And the little, tinny noises worm their way right into Jack’s heart, doing more to warm up his core than the entire heating system of his luxury suite.

“What….why does it taste like that? It tastes like…like… _grandma_ …” Rhys mumbles, peering at the label as if he could somehow shape the Danish lettering into sometime he could understand. Jack chuckles, plucking the greenish bottle from Rhys’ loose hand.

“ _Pfft_ , gross kiddo, I don’t wanna know about your sex life.” That earns him a clumsy slap from Rhys.

“Mmmm, as if you don’t like, already  _know_  all about that.” Rhys retorts, obviously without thinking. Jack busies himself in the minibar, dumping the rest of the aquavit in the trash before he returns with two pocket-sized wine bottles. He hands one to Rhys before sitting on the bed, watching the omega struggle to twist the cap off as he relaxed back into the leather chair, his long legs sliding against the floor and underneath the room service cart that had been wheeled between the two men. They’d picked at the pieces of bread and slices of meat and eggs, most of it now left to grow warm on the plate as Rhys finally pops the cap off his bottle. Jack watches Rhys’ throat bob for a moment before he wrenches off his own cap, finishing of the alcohol with a wet smack of his lips.

“Mmmm….that’s the stuff….get that….nasty crap taste outta my mouth…” Jack drops the empty bottle against the service cart, picking at a slice of speckled cold cut before letting it flop with a slap against the plate.

“Man…I’d kill for a frikkin’ burger right now…I know they got like…fast food joints ‘round here but it seems super…tacky….y’know?”

Rhys snorts, turning his bottle around in both hands, absently watching the light reflect off the cheap glass.

“You know….some of these countries they….they put bananas on pizza…. _bananas_ , Jack,” Rhys pulls a face, “nothing….nothing’ll make you appreciate New York like fucking… _bananas_ on pizza.”

Jack laughs, leaning back on his hands, sinking into his fluffy, newly made bed. His feet slides underneath the table, the tips of his shoes nudging against Rhys’ own. He’d taken off his own shoes at some point. Jack hadn’t really noticed.

“You still wear those dumb socks, pumpkin?” Jack cranes his neck, trying to peer over the edge of the bed while also not really wanting to move. The bed feels way too comfortable and is seriously planning on pulling his tipsy body down with it.

Rhys rolls his eyes but stands up, rounding around the service cart and planting his foot impudently up on Jack’s bad. The alpha squints against the drunken fuzziness trying to creep from the corners of his eyes, an amused titter stealing from his lips at the sight of the garishly patterned Christmas socks the omega is sporting.

“Awww, those’r real cute, kitten, real real cute. Lookit you, getting all  _festive_ ,” Jack’s grin is starting to hurt, but he can’tt stop, especially not when Rhys crawls further onto the bed, his little red tie long fallen out of where it’d been tucked into his pants, dragging along the bed like a leash. It’s such a pretty color, bright carmine like the sleek Porsche Jack had bought a few weeks ago to chase the memories of blue.

Jack wants to touch it.

He grabs the tie as soon as Rhys grows close. By then, the omega is already sitting on top of him. Rhys ass is soft and warm, a round weight against his belly as Jack tugs him in by the silky stream of his tie. There’s little resistance in his body as the alpha pulls his omega close, their lips quickly slotting back into a familiar lock.

Jack long thought he’d buried thoughts of Rhys in the mouths and cunts and cocks of those he’d fucked over the past few months, thrusting into them as if he were picking at a scab. He’d even had a few he’d thought of giving in and bonding, if only to end the suspense, but invariably he’d let them go strutting out his door. No one had dared to linger to figure out would happen if they stayed.

But it all comes flooding back, now, even with—or perhaps because of—the alcohol warming his brain like a cabin in a blizzard, waiting for the kiss of the golden sun coming from the sky and Rhys is it, Rhys is the yellow light and ceaseless blue tearing through the pall and stoking his heart until Jack feels like he can breath fire.

He grabs Rhys by the shoulders and sits up, tossing the omega back onto the bed and then their clothes are coming off, stripped from their body like needless layers of skin until they press against one another, hearts beating in a chained tandem as they join as one.

Jack has many questions. Rhys feels fuller in his hands, his scent changed. Sweeter than before, than he remembers when he’d buried his nose in it every morning and fell asleep with it swaddled around him at night. Whether that’s due to an actual change or simply because it’s been months since Jack had been this close to the omega matters little.

What matters is that Rhys still cries when he orgasms, and after months of nothing but his own tears Jack’s, not sure he’s ever seen something so beautiful.

* * *

The snow falls outside, flecks of life against the frigid black of the night. With a hotel room this high up, it’s harder to see the warm light flickering in the scores of buildings stretching out all around them, but Jack finds more comfort inside of the omega curled up and relaxing against his chest.

It’s been a long time since Jack has properly knotted anyone instead of splattering his cum all over their face or thighs. He’s too tired to even try to remember the last time he’d felt this kind of warmth, this satisfaction, but it makes him feel much better to think that it’d been Rhys.

He pets up the omega’s spine, turning his head to kiss against Rhys’ ear. He whispers something, it’s clumsy and awkward on his tongue. Rhys snorts softly, turning to look up at him.

“What’d you say?”

The alpha laughs.

“Didn’t…you bother to learn any Danish when you decided to come here?” Jack’s hand stops on Rhys’ lower back, settling there like a tattoo.

Rhys rests his chin on Jack’s sternum, moving his wispy chest hair with each breath. A dewey little smile curls at his lips, eyes still dull and drunk from wine and sex.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Rhys mumbles, sliding his arms up until they hang off Jack’s shoulders, his fingers starting to play idly with Jack’s messy hair.

“I…I don’t have  _any_  idea what any of these people are sayin’. I’ve got one of those…dumb little pocket book translators but I don’t remember half of the things it says. Sometimes I can’t even order coffee right,” the omega whispers, like it’s something he’s been dying to get off his chest.

Jack’s eyebrows furrow.

“Rhysie…why did you come here if you didn’t know a lick of Danish?”

“And…and you do?”

“Enough to order a coffee, pumpkin. Answer the question,” Jack smirks as he bumps their noses together. Rhys’ eyelids are fluttering, getting heavier as his body relaxes even more atop Jack’s. The alpha has almost given up on getting a response, his mind drifting off to how much he needs to pee, when Rhys speaks up.

“I….I thought…it was the furthest place…I thought I was the least likely….to run into you.”

Jack’s heart freezes, neck stiffening as he tears his eyes away from Rhys to look out the dark, fluttering window.

“Well…” his voice is hoarse around the lump in his throat, “you really screwed up on that one.”

“Yeah…” Rhys’ voice vibrates into his ribs. “I know….I know…”

Jack wonders how cold and deep the banks of snow outside are, his muscles tensed and ready to push Rhys away, when a warm sigh settled over his chest.

“I’m….glad I did…”

Rhys slips away into sleep after that, and as the alpha looks on with soft, stunned eyes, he begins to drool.


End file.
